Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3)

by Dawn Marie Hamilton

  She lowered to the leaf covered ground and stole to the thicket. Oonagh’s strong magic skittered over her skin. There was no need to fear Maclay would find what was hidden.

  Jillian’s stuff from the future would remain safe.

  Caitrina vanished into the evening breeze and traveled to Strathlachlan and the Sithichean Sluaigh to await Stephen and Jillian’s arrival.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They traveled for several days and set camp late each afternoon. Exhaustion taking its toll, Jillian fell into a deep sleep along with the children after a meal of freshly caught trout. Loud voices roused her to semi-consciousness. She tried to shake off the cobwebs of slumber, sensing a strong need to wake up. Something pinged her cheek. Then again. She brushed a hand over her face and over the blanket. Pebbles? There were tiny round stones on the bedding.

  Was she dreaming? Disoriented, she jerked her eyes open. Early morning light filtered through the mist. Panic set in when she realized the children were gone from the bedroll and the fervent voices belonged to angry men.

  She rolled to the side and froze in place. Eyes wide, she focused on the four men near the cold fire ring. A man with a badly scarred face brandished a claymore, pointing the darn sword at Stephen while two other men held him by the arms. Stephen’s desperate thrashing did little to throw off the men. He stilled, glare leveled at the man with the blade.

  “Ach, now, MacEwen, how does it feel to be a member of the high and mighty Clan MacLachlan? My prisoner?” The scarred man’s bark carried on the moist air to where Jillian pretended to sleep.

  “What are you after, Maclay?” Stephen’s voice held a chilling calm.

  Maclay? Shit! This was the ruthless man they sought to avoid.

  “I plan to take your lass to replace the one Patrick stole from me.”

  Jillian’s gasp blended with the noise the men made and went unheard. Thank God.

  “Lady Laurie never belonged to you. You kidnapped her,” Stephen retorted.

  “I was supposed to wed Lady Laurie. Patrick was to wed Lady Isobell. You cursed MacLachlans got them both.”

  “You ken verra well Patrick never agreed to that arrangement. Be off with you. Leave us in peace.”

  The scarred man’s howling laugh made the hairs on Jillian’s arms rise. She needed to do something to help Stephen. But what? She was powerless against three armed men. Fortunately, they seemed to believe she remained sleeping. Or perhaps didn’t consider her a threat.

  “Your time is at an end, MacEwen. The lady from faerieland is mine.”

  “Faerieland? You make nae sense.”

  “Oh, aye, I do. My men followed Isobell to the Sithichean Sluaigh and watched her disappear. I saw Archibald vanish from the same spot with my own eyes. I ken the knoll is a passageway to faerieland.”

  “Then use it and go there,” Stephen spat.

  “I cannot.” Maclay precariously waved the sword as he spoke. “The magic will not work for me. I need the lass to show me the way.”

  “What makes you think she can take you?”

  “She is like Lady Laurie. I ken Patrick traveled to the other side with his wife.”

  “You are a fool. They live in France.”

  “You lie. All MacLachlans lie. They went to faerieland and so shall I with the help of that lass.” The four men stared in her direction.

  Jillian snapped her eyes shut, feigning sleep, sneaking a peek from beneath her lashes.

  “Mighty comely lass. Methinks to have my way with her first. Perhaps I will let you watch.”

  “Ye promised to share,” blurted one of the men holding Stephen.”

  “Aye. I will.” The scarred man leered, upper lip curled.

  A shiver of fear shot through Jillian and she swallowed uneasily. How would they get out of this mess? Adrenaline surged in her veins. She needed to do something. But what?

  Stephen struggled against the arms holding him. They held firm. “Why would she help you after you abused her?”

  “To keep you alive.” The man’s spittle spattered Stephen’s shirt.

  Stephen didn’t flinch. He locked gazes with Jillian, sending her strength. She knew he’d protect her with his last breath. Jillian must do the same for him.

  The man with the sword lunged forward, blade pointed at Stephen. Jillian reacted without thought as Stephen had taught her. She grasped one of the knives from its sheath on her thigh and threw, grabbed the second and threw. The first blade embedded in the scarred man’s forearm. He howled and pulled out the blade, tossing it on the ground. Blood flowed down his wrist, covering the sword hilt gripped in his hand. The second knife hit one of Stephen’s captors in the belly. He doubled over then fell to the ground. His body convulsed then stilled.

  Stephen took advantage of the disruption and threw off the remaining man holding him, rolled over the ground, and secured his claymore.

  The scarred man and the uninjured man melted into the trees and disappeared.

  “Life or death!” Stephen bellowed and ran into the woods after them. The oath sounded very much like a war cry.

  Jillian scrambled to her knees. The man on the ground clutched his stomach, eyes wide with shock. Blood oozed from his mouth and he made funny gurgling sounds. Ohmigod! She’d done that. Probably killed the man.

  She crawled to the edge of the clearing and vomited. Once the nausea passed, she brushed hair away from a sweaty face with trembling fingers and scanned the camp. Where the hell were the children?

  Stephen returned, tossed aside his sword, and lifted her to her feet. He wrapped her in a bear hug of an embrace. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart keeping time with hers.

  “I am so verra sorry. Sorry you needed to do that.” His palm cradled the back of her head.

  “What about the man on the ground? Is there something we can do for him?”

  “Aye.” Stephen released her and slashed the man’s throat. “May his soul rot in hell.”

  A rush of nausea hit Jillian and she retched again.

  “My poor lass.” Stephen wet a small cloth from a flask and wiped her face and her neck, his touch gentle. He offered the flask. “Here. Take a small sip and rinse the foul taste from your mouth.”

  She did as told and attempted a weak smile.

  He held her close. “There, there. We only did what needed to be done.”

  Jillian sobbed into his chest. He hugged her shaking body. Rubbed her back. Kissed the top of her head. She took comfort in his strength.

  On a hiccup, she murmured her fear into his chest.

  “What? I did not hear you.”

  “The children are missing,” she repeated.

  “I ken.”

  She leaned back and searched his gaze.

  “They snuck away into the wood as soon as the men showed themselves. Maclay did not care about the bairns. He let them go.”

  “I don’t think they left right away. I think they threw pebbles at me first to rouse me from sleep.”

  Stephen smiled. “They are resourceful.”

  She sniffled. Glad the children woke her. Glad they hadn’t stuck around. Glad they hadn’t witnessed what she’d done.

  “Why did the men run off?” she asked.

  “They ken I am the better fighter.”

  “Even with your bad leg?”

  “They dinnae ken I was injured.” He released her from his secure embrace. “We better break camp and go into hiding for a wee while.”

  Jillian felt lost without the comfort of his arms. Taking the flask of water, she gargled and thoroughly washed the awful taste from her mouth. Ugh. Toothpaste or a mint would be great right about now. She started to pack, but the dead man still lay there on the ground, watching her through sightless eyes. She burst into tears.

  “Turn away, lass. I will drag the body into the brush so you will not need to look at it.”

  “Shouldn’t we bury him?”

  “Nae. Let the scavengers have him. He deserves nae better.”

 
She swallowed hard and continued to pack. Stephen returned with a pronounced limp.

  “Are you okay?”

  “A minor setback. Stiff is all.” He stepped close. “I will be fine. Here, let me help.”

  Jillian handed him the bedroll to tie onto one of the horses. “Why did they attack us?”

  “Maclay wants you. And wants me dead.”

  “But why?”

  “Revenge against Patrick. Maclay also seems to believe you are from faerieland. Mayhap, he thinks you are a faerie.” He smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

  “I heard him. He wanted to rape me.”

  “Dinnae think of it.”

  She knew Stephen was trying to ease her mind, but it wasn’t working. “What are we going to do? How will we find the children?”

  “Each night, Duff and I agree on a nearby place of safety. He took Keita to some caves not far from here. We will head there and regroup. Perhaps remain a day or two. Hopefully, Maclay will think we moved on and search for us farther abroad. Though I doubt we have seen the last of him. We will need to be more vigilant.” He embraced her again. “You saved my life.”

  “I was so frightened.” She hugged him back. “I thought they were going to kill you.”

  “They would have.” Stephan ran a palm over the curve of her face, and she melted into the caress. “Your throws were well done. I am proud of you.”

  Acid burned Jillian’s stomach, anxiety replacing the false moment of calm. She didn’t want to think about what she’d been forced to do. Being in the past was no longer fun. She wanted to go home. Now.

  They broke apart. Stephen had cleaned her blades and he held them out. Her hands shook, and she closed her eyes.

  “Take them,” he said, softly.

  Jillian bit her lip. She didn’t want to touch the knives, but finally took the pair and returned them to the sheaths strapped to her thighs. They finished loading the horses and mounted. Before they left the clearing, Jillian reined her roan mare next to Stephen’s stallion. “Do we truly need to go into hiding? Couldn’t we make a run for it? Hurry to the place where you think I can travel home from? I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

  “Trust me.” He patted her thigh. “I vow to keep you safe.”

  And he would, by the Saints. Stephen wouldn’t let Maclay get hold of Jillian. The bastard would destroy the goodness within her. Hurt her for his pleasure. She meant more to Stephen than did his handfasted wife. His honor felt tarnished by the admission, but the truth was the truth. He wouldn’t lie to himself.

  He tensed his jaw. When they reached the caves, he planned to commit a sin of the flesh. Being near to death a couple of times, add the risk of nearly losing the one he loved, well, ach, the fear was enough to make a man rethink his convictions.

  He stole glances at Jillian as they rode. They got twisted around a few times, searching for the caves Duff had described. Not a bad thing. The crossed tracks would confuse anyone following them.

  A light snow began to fall. That, too, would help hide their tracks.

  Although the caves were well hidden, the mouth easily handled the horses’ height. He and Jillian dismounted and led the animals through the opening. A large hollow carved into a side wall proved perfect for securing the beasts out of the bad weather.

  After making a torch and lighting it, he and Jillian explored the few inner chambers, holding hands. Felt right to guide her in such a personal manner. Especially considering the decision he’d made.

  “The children aren’t here. Do you think Maclay caught them?” Jillian scraped pearly white teeth over her bottom lip.

  His body hardened in reaction. He wanted to plant a kiss on those sweet lips. “What?”

  “The children?”

  “The bairns ken the woods better than most. They are used to running free. Mayhap they have grown tired of traveling with us.”

  Her eyes misted.

  He squeezed her fingers. “I am sure they will come to us again.”

  Upon returning to the horses, they unloaded the saddlebags, brushing against each other in the process. His body awakened, stiffened with each touch. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms. Make slow, passionate love to her. Sleep with her at his side. He hoped the children stayed away, at least through the afternoon.

  He slung the bag with the food over a shoulder. “Bring the bedroll, we will find a dry spot to rest and eat. You must be famished. I am.”

  He was hungry. Just not for food.

  Stephen led Jillian deeper into the caves with only one thought in mind. He needed the feel of her body against his. Proof they both still lived.

  They selected a chamber where a previous cave visitor had constructed a stone fire ring and left behind a pile of dry wood. While Jillian rolled out the bedding, he lit a wee blaze, the smoke escaping through a narrow fissure in the ceiling. He removed his plaide, and after they sat, spread the wool cloth over their laps.

  He offered a cold oatcake, but she shook her head. “Not hungry.”

  What happened at camp this morning must still have her upset. “Perhaps some ale?”

  She gifted him a tentative smile and accepted the skin. A long pull made her choke.

  “Easy, lass.” He slapped her back. “Not so fast.”

  “I’m fine. The ale went down my Sunday throat, is all.”

  She took a slower sip then handed him the skin. His brow tightened in confusion. “Dinnae understand.”

  “That was sort of a saying my father used to repeat when I drank too fast and inhaled the liquid instead of swallowing. As if it went down another throat and made me choke, a throat only used on the Sabbath. He could say it on any day but Sunday.” She smiled for real this time.

  His chest tightened. He couldn’t wait any longer. Stephen leaned forward and, with the lightest of touches, pressed a kiss to her mouth. Soft brown eyes flared, gold specks sparkling, then closed as his lips continued to caress. He sucked on her bottom lip and caught a sensual moan. Wrapping her in a gentle embrace, he slid her onto his lap.

  “Jillian, I wish to do more than kiss you, if you will permit.” Her eyes fluttered open. The tenderest of moments. He kenned the answer without her speaking.

  “I’d like that very much. Though first, a question. How do you suppose I was able to strike those men when I found it difficult to hit the target on a tree? Was it fae magic? You said the knife tips were coated in faerie dust.” Jillian drew wee circles on his chest with the tip of a finger.

  Her touch was distracting. Stephen would prefer to think about pleasure. He hesitated in answering wishing her thoughts hadn’t travelled back to the attack. He didn’t want her upset. And if he admitted what he believed to be true—he didn’t want her to think he disparaged her marksmanship.

  “You won’t insult me.”

  “Ach, well, magic may have played a wee role.”

  Jillian smiled. “You are a diplomat, Stephen MacEwen. I like you very much.”

  She kissed him. Not a soft, gentle kiss, but an all-consuming, shocking kiss. Her tongue slid between his lips, and she tasted of the sweet ale they’d shared. Gaze locked on his, she grasped his shoulders and pushed him back against the bedding, straddling his hips, continuing with the kissing, tongues entwined and dueling.

  He stiffened, ready to roll her over and become the aggressor. Her tongue grazed his teeth, and he nearly bucked. What was she doing to him? His erection throbbed. His heart beat as if he’d run a long distance without rest. He’d never had such an adamant lover. Felt good. Very good. He growled deep in his throat and responded in kind.

  She broke the kiss and tugged his leine up over his chest. “You have way too much on.”

  He raised his arms and allowed the cloth to be dragged over his head and tossed aside. “As do you.”

  She giggled, and he reached for the hem of her plain wool gown. Shortly thereafter, divested of clothing, they tumbled on the bedding in a snarl of arms and legs, stroking and kissing. Each caress he
ightening desire. Stephen didn’t think he could hold out much longer, but he wanted this one time with Jillian to last in his memory for a lifetime.

  Using fingers to stoke the flame, he brought her to a fevered pitch. She arched, gripped the plaide beneath them in tight fists, and screamed his name with her release. Her joy echoed within the cave.

  Her eyes glossy with satiation, his chest expanded with the knowledge he’d brought her such pleasure. His own need could no longer be denied. He slid between her legs, leaned his forehead against hers and struggled for control, struggled in search of gentleness.

  His lass wanted none of that. In a quick move, she rolled them over and mounted him. For the love of… Her tight sheath slid over his cock, then withdrew, causing aching need. Exquisite pain. Blinding pleasure. Drawing him in, stroke after stroke, she moved with a rhythm that possessed, took him higher than he’d ever been before. Urgency drove him to the edge. Sweat broke out over his forehead. Almost. Almost there. He fisted the cloth beneath them. With Jillian’s name on his lips, he exploded with a rush that burned through his chest, bled his cock, made him come and come and come.

  They stayed entwined in a loving embrace for the longest of time, Jillian’s breath teasing over his moist skin. Stephen hated to shatter the moment, but guilt nagged at him. He needed to explain the situation with Calyn. It wasn’t fair to keep the handfasting secret.

  He rolled away and sat up, feeling horribly unworthy. Jillian deserved so much more than he could offer. And what made him think she wanted anything more from him? “Jillian, I need to tell you—”

  “We are back!” Keita ran into the chamber, arms full of clothing, and lunged onto the bedroll, landing between Jillian and Stephen. Duff also carried a pile of clothes.

  “What’s all this?” Jillian sat up while pulling the plaide up to the neck. She swiped snarled hair from her eyes and gave Stephen an amused sideways glance. He tugged a plaide over his privates. His chest constricted. She looked thoroughly bedded and utterly beautiful.

  “’Tis getting colder, and you need warmer garments for the remainder of our journey,” Keita said, sounding very grown up for a wee lass.